


Stone's Throw

by tesseractact



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Infinity Gems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesseractact/pseuds/tesseractact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He can wield the hammer, he can keep the mind stone.” </p>
<p>And if the mind stone were taken?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It was odd

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the thoughts in my mind. Stone me if you will.

He saw the world: a scattered beauty of light and dark; then he saw himself: a distinction of what won’t be.

His current state, his current physicality, was something of an accident. He had been granted a form he thought not possible by, ironically, losing that which had channeled his original being.

It was several months in pursuit of a stormy conflict, and something was clawing at his skull. A metal glove of sorts. It cored in collected the stone. His skin tore, sight scattered, and all the gravity of the universe came crashing down at once.

When the ancient power was dragged away, he remained: curled against the crust of the earth with his limbs heavy. Smoke hissed and ash burned as he drew breath.

He blinked away the sudden roar of bedlam. In the midst of the battle, all his bearings were paralyzed.

Move. He should move. Why couldn’t he move?

Hands clutched against his chest, pressed against his face. He could hear her voice, a vibration of sounds that brushed against his mind. The dust shifted in uneasy vertigo. He tried focus, but could only feel shadows fused against a synaptic aura of red. Everything dulled into darkness.

 ***

When he woke, it was odd.

The first time he had experienced such an awakening, he had been thrust through metal and glass. He had pressed against the momentum, stopping an instant before going through another window. His eyes took a moment to focus, calibrating all the shards of light into forms. It was jarring to be confronted with his own reflection: a harsh contrast against the glittering lights of a sleepless city.

To see himself then: alien complexion fixed with patches of vibranium plates, groves of synthetic tissue, and eyes that focused in complex patterns. The stone cascaded with knowledge and order. It gave him near absolute access, the extent of its power never quite declared. It exuded a calm purity. He saw, he understood and accepted, “I am.”

To see himself today: pale complexion, rounded ears skirted by short white-gold hair, and clear blue eyes. It was even more irregular sensation not to have the centuries whisper wisdoms in his ear. It was a symbiotic connection of sorts. When it was torn away, it blazed with clarity shifted the very fabric of his flesh into what, “I am now.”

Perhaps that is why he still was and instead of was not. It had parted from him, but let him keep himself: his experiences, friendships, every last memory in his matrix. He could still observe all the world’s complexities with a crisp awareness and understanding, but now he had the ability to be.

Yes, it was odd.

 


	2. Don't Disconnect

The medical corridors wouldn’t sign him out until he was able to walk on his own. Without his body’s former exoskeleton, he felt very much like a toddler balancing against gravity.

The doctors discovered that his original tissue imprints were still fused within his structure, deep into his bone, but his it was no longer a shield against the elements. It was infrastructure. Papercuts, he learned, were quite a nasty nuance. 

She helped him through the rehab. Their conversations were light and airy while he retrained his muscles to function. She recounted ops or new oddities around the compound. Heavier conversations were deflected.

Right now, she was content to know that his mind was within reach. He still welcomed her to look inside his head, but any venture she made had a tentative tether. She would pull away when he tried to engage her as they had before. Before, they sailed greats distances in thought alone. It was an intimate bond, one that had made everything vivid. One that made her intensity blindingly brilliant. Now, their voyages barely left the dock. It was a full smile and a muted mind that greeted him each day. It etched him with concern. 

It was not just the connection of mind that she had held in reserve, but she also shied away his touch. She would lend him her shoulder as they would walk the corridors or work from one rehab equipment set to another. However, when he threaded his fingers through hers or leaned over to press a kiss against her temple, she would still.

The sensations of touch had always been enamoring. The stone, plausibly, instilled in him the interest in exploring tactile surfaces and absorbing environments. The cool surface of glass in the training rooms windows, the coase fabric of the sofa in the rec room, the pulse that skipped beneath her skin when they were pressed together. He was still enthralled by these sensations, his new skin had him revisiting all the touches he had cataloged. When he tried to pull her close, close as they had been before, she seemed to form a buffer.

One day, the worry over her hesitations overcame him. When her guarded thoughts started to ebb, he clung fiercely to the connection: refusing to let her go. It startled her. She didn’t know he could do that. He didn’t know he could do that.

He took that moment and channeled all he could. All his heart. It wasn’t as eloquent as he had hoped, and the effort caused him to crash down. Something painful twisted: a phantom where the stone had once been. He tried not to pass out.

She had caught him as he swayed, and he leaned into the support. His weight pulled them both down and she sank to her knees to keep him in her grasp. His head rolled into her shoulder, shallow breaths against her neck. Her fingers cradled the back of his skull.

“Idiot,” she admonished.


	3. Connect

Dark windows. It was night. Wasn’t it just day? How long had he been asleep? He sensed he was back in the medical wing. Back in his bed. 

A weight crushed against his chest as he recounted what happened in the hallway. It left a metallic taste in his mouth. He tried to drag himself up, every muscle screaming like fire. He had to—

‘Be still,’ a warmth wrapped around his mind. He shuddered at the sensation, collapsing back against the sheets.

He rolled his head to try and see her, an arm reaching on it’s own accord. She was folded in a nearby chair and was on the fringe of sleep. Years of making due on the streets of Sokovia trained her to fold into places for rest even in the harshest of circumstances. Still, she could not be terribly comfortable. 

She dragged a cascade of hair away from her face and tipped her eyes to hold his gaze. Moving from her chair, she settled on the edge of the bed, threading her fingers through his outstretched arm.

‘You are still you,’ she assured his mind. ‘I am still me,’ she continued with a glint of mischief. It gracefully rolled into sincerity. ‘We are.’

**Author's Note:**

> The premise for this story was born from Thor's comment at the end of Avengers: Age of Ultron:
> 
> “He can wield the hammer, he can keep the mind stone.”
> 
> It's amazing that one sentence can kick such a cascade of "what if." Chase the rabbit:
> 
> Thor's words words lead me to believe that the mind stone is an optional bonus of what Vision can accomplish. It's an incarnate power source and it has centuries of cosmic knowledge channeled into its structure. However, if they took it away, Vision would still be Vision. Same as one might still be themselves if their iPhone were taken away. There would be an learning curve, but one could still live without one.
> 
> As far as what might have been suggested in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the infinity stones can have a host relationship (ie: Jane with the Aether = parasitic to host; Vision with the Mind Stone = symbiotic to host). In this light, I wanted to continue the assumption that there was a symbiotic relationship between the stone and Vision. Wherever it started, whoever instilled the notion, both are on the side of life. As such, if it were torn away, it wouldn't destroy Vision. It's too smart to do that. It's too powerful to do that. It would make sure there was a chance of survival. Even if it meant a change.
> 
> This change actualizes Vision as a true, functional, biological human form. Knowing how he was built (that the Vibranium bonded with living tissue), I took a note from Wolverine's book and made sure the Vibranium was still at his core bone density. But if you're human, you bleed. Hence: papercut. (Sorry, Vision. I drew blood.)
> 
> All this to avoid the messy conversation that people might have that "he's a robot" or "not real" or "false" or "fake" or the British male voice on Siri …
> 
> I digress.
> 
> So, this story really just ties in that the Stone is taken, but it throws life to Vision. He's really a stone's throw from human anyway. Right? Right. Happy we cleared that up.
> 
> Just because something is artificial doesn't mean it can't be real.


End file.
